A Joke The World Will Know
by TheLilyoftheValley
Summary: In the depths of the Asylum, on the day on of the bomb, he was reborn. Gotham has no idea of what just happened and what is yet to come. But hey, if you knew when the punchline was coming, then you wouldn't have a joke, now would you? (Takes place after Season 2 finale) (Pic from Google Images)


_(*Sucks in deep breath* "I have finished another!" And in record time too; A Question Yet To Be Asked took me six months to write and edit. This one took me a month and a few days. Yay. If Jerome seems out of character... I am a bit fuzzy on his episodes, so whatever I couldn't remember, I substituted in the Arkhamverse Joker and my own morbid imagination. I tried to keep the characters in character as best I could, and I hope you like it. Words of warning: minor language and mature in a few parts [it's Joker, what did you expect?])_

 ** _Disclaimer: I do not own GOTHAM or its characters. Good thing too. I would end up giving Jerome a few ideas..._**

A Joke the World Will Know

 _Emptiness. That was what he could describe his world to be right now. The whole universe he was floating around in was vast, infinite… and empty._

 _He lay still, waiting for… something. It was as if his spirit hadn't moved from its position because it somehow knew something was going to happen to it. The spirit couldn't remember how it had died, what it had looked like, or what its name had been. But it sat still, waiting for the moment to come._

 _A small light appeared right in front of the spirit. Instead of veering away from it, the spirit floated toward it. The light grew exponentially in size, until it threatened to swallow the universe the spirit rested in. The spirit quickened its pace. This was what it had been waiting for, the moment when-_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

His head snapped back against the chair and he sucked in a mouthful of air as his body convulsed against the chair restraints. His eyes widen and blinding white light assaulted his vision. His ears slowly adjusted to pick up the voices of the bodies around him. "SuCceSsss," they cried, "CAll PrOfessor Strange immediately, we have successfully brought back another patient!"

He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the powerful white light. He exhaled that first breath and breathed in another through his nose, slower this time. The air smelled manufactured and decontaminated of any outside sources; no doubt he was in a hospital setting. He smiled at the two other white-coated people in the room. "Hi," he said, making it sound as if he was trying to seduce them.

One of the orderlies turned him. "Please do not talk to me. The only person you are authorized to talk to is Professor Strange. He will be here in a moment."

 _Jerome Valeska, that was his name_. "So, Thing One," Jerome said, relaxing in his chair, "what do you like to do for fun?" _He had been in Arkham before for murdering his slut mother-_

"I cannot talk to you, only Professor Strange can."

Jerome turned to the other orderly. "What about you Thing Two, what do you like to do?" Jerome said in a singsong-like voice. The sentences had rhymed and that was kind of funny so he let out a little giggle… _-but then a Theo Galavan and his sister had broken him and a couple others out to form the Maniax-_

"I can't call you guys Thing One and Thing Two, it's so unoriginal, so I'll call you"-he nodded toward the first orderly- "Ricky Bob, and I'll call you"- he said to the other orderly- "Louie." Jerome giggled as the orderlies showed no change in expression. What was with them, all he wanted was a simple conversation… _-and there was a master plan and a bus full of cheerleaders and Russian Roulette and a magic show-_

"So Louie," Jerome said to the orderly, "since you didn't tell me what you like to do for fun, I'll tell you what I like to do." Jerome giggled as immature thoughts flooded his mind. "Your mom."

Jerome giggled again as the orderly turned to face him. This guy totally didn't understand the real joke. "Really, a 'Your Mama' joke?" The orderly actually looked annoyed at the lack of originality. He stood up from his chair and leaned over Jerome, unconsciously pushing a tray full of doctoring tools closer to the resurrected teenager. The orderly's face was smug. "What are you, five years old?"

Jerome gave the orderly his best smile. "No, but I'm about to make you cry like one." He stabbed downward (not as powerfully as he wanted to, but it still got the message through) with a scalpel he had just swiped from the tray and twisted it deep into the orderly's hand. The orderly screeched in pain and yanked his hand away. Jerome laughed as the other orderly jumped up to help his friend. "WHAT A GREAT OPENING PUNCHLINE!" Jerome shouted, cackling as a man with circular glasses and a chinstrap beard walked into the room.

"What in God's name is going on here?" Jerome barely caught the man's words over the echoing sounds of his laughter. The man was definitely a psychiatrist; there could be a bomb about to explode, but the man would most likely continue to speak in that whispery voice.

The man stalked over to the injured orderly, clearly mad, but his voice was still barely above a whisper. "I thought I made it clear to you and your friend that you are not allowed to speak with the patients after they have been resurrected." The orderly stayed quiet, most likely reluctant to admit that "the patient" had stabbed him by using a stolen scalpel and a "Your Mama" joke.

"Sir, I apologize, this will never happen again." He practically trembled where he stood.

The man smiled, but there was little warmth in the facial expression. "If anything like this does happen again, I'll make sure you become one of my next experiments. Maybe I'll use you when I start my Acid Resistance tests, though there are a lot of _'kinks'_ in the first batches…"

The injured orderly and his friend rushed out of the room. The man looked up at Jerome and continued to smile coldly.

Jerome giggled at the man's smile. Damn, everything seemed hilarious now. "Can't say I dislike the show."

The man stopped smiling and took a deep breath. He moved closer to Jerome, but stayed out of reaching distance. "I am Professor Hugo Strange, and you are in a deep, _underground_ facility. Do you remember who you are?"

This guy was going to be _fun_. "Strangie, I have no clue of who I used to be." Jerome faked his best "innocent little boy" look. "What was I? A delivery boy? A fry cook?" He gasped as he feigned surprise. "An altar boy?"

Strange smiled. A true smile this time, not a forced one that was only put on in an attempt to look pleasant. "My dear boy, you are- "

"A PATIENT IN A HORRIFIC EXPERIMENT! A SECURITY GUARD IN A HAUNTED CHILDREN'S PIZZERIA! THE BOY BILLIONAIRE!"

The look of utter annoyance on Strange's face was priceless. "No," he said, closing his eyes and sighing with frustration. "You are- "

"Jerome Valeska. Put into Arkham Asylum because I didn't like my mommy. The leader of a gang called the Maniax." Jerome swept his eyes over Hugo again and caught something interesting. "Hey now, you weren't a doctor in my asylum when I was here." Hugo's eyes widened slightly with surprise and Jerome gave a small chuckle. He nodded and leaned towards Strange's coat. "You left your name tag on. Shows that you're not one of the lowly idiots in this facility."

"Very observant," he remarked, droning on in that monotone voice. "But you are wrong. I was a doctor while you were here, but you never saw me. I spent most of my time down here, working on the formula that has given you a second chance at life."

Jerome leaned back in the chair. His mind was calm after the mess of flashbacks, but at the same time, it was full of chaos. "So Strangie, what was in the formula you gave me? Do I get any superpowers?"

Hugo Strange glared at Jerome. "Your lack of manners is beginning to irk me. While you are here you will address me as Professor Strange, not ' _Strangie_.'"

Jerome smiled and snickered. "Strangie, the first thing you need to learn about me is" -he lowered his voice- " _I don't follow the rules."_

Strange didn't flinch. He didn't even look flustered. He stood there, expressionless. Jerome's smile fell from his face and a small frown replaced it. He hated people that wouldn't show their emotions; it was so not cool.

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you what was in the formula without killing you," Hugo's whispery voice drawled. "However, we did infuse your body with a 'superpower,' as you called it. We injected you with an anti-toxin formula that will give you immunity to every toxin on this planet, including radioactive material. You are the first resurrected patient to test this new formula, and unfortunately, it takes a while for the formula to take effect. You will be fully immune to toxins by tomorrow night."

Jerome could barely contain his emotions as an enormous smile plastered itself on his face. "Well, shucks, Strangie, I'm honored to be part of your freak experiments. You made me into a modern-day superhero." His face warped into an animalistic snarl. "What do you want from me, Strangie?"

Strange gritted his teeth, the only indicator that he was angry. "You will find out later," he said, annoyance dripping out of his voice. He turned towards the door and called out softly, "Guards, take Jerome here to his new cell. I need to do some work upstairs first, but I will be back later this evening." He slipped out the door before Jerome could say anything.

The two guards loosened the restraints, but not before one nudged the tray of tools out of his reach. Killjoy. They yanked him out of the chair, and Jerome struggled to retain his balance. "Easy on the goods, fellas. You can't find a better-looking body on this side of the world than this one right here."

The guards kept their stoic expressions as they hauled him out of the room. They led him down one hall, then turned right into another hallway, then turned left into another hallway… by the time Jerome got to his cell, he was completely lost and sweating from the amount of exertion. His body wasn't used to the sudden revival of movement. Apparently, bodies caught in the middle of rigor mortis did not handle long walks down the hallways of hospitals.

The guard to the left of Jerome unhooked the death grip he had on Jerome's arm and pulled a ring of keys from his belt. He unlocked the door and held the door open as the other guard shoved Jerome into the cell. Jerome stumbled a moment before he regained his balance. He twirled around dramatically, only to see the cell door slam shut. "Those guys are just no fun," he commented as he heard the guards shuffle away.

He studied every detail of his cell. It was mostly empty except for a small cot chained to the wall. The was a vent that was the length of his fingertips to his palm in the top right corner of the room, providing air but preventing him a chance to escape. Two books rested under the cot; Jerome could only guess they were there in order to provide entertainment for the inmates during the twenty-three hour days in their cells. There was a small toilet a few feet from the bed and a sink with a soap bar right next to it. All in all, he wouldn't be able to escape from the cell, so he would have to make an escape attempt while he was being transported through the hallways.

"Well, this sucks," he said as he flopped down onto his bed.

Not a second passed before a regal voice floated through the tiny window on his cell door. "Child, come here," it drawled.

Jerome grinned. Oh goodie, someone to talk to. He jumped off his bed and nearly crashed into the cell door in his excitement. He peered out the window, eager to see who the regal voice belonged to.

A woman with rich chocolate brown skin stood directly across from him. She had the face of a powerful queen, but her two different colored eyes gave anyone the impression that she was not a person they would want to screw with. Clicking sounds came from the other side of her cell door; Jerome guessed she was drumming the tips of her nails against the door.

She didn't react when he popped up mere centimeters from the cell window, grinning like a madman. Instead she blinked slowly and continued to study him. After a minute, the smile fell from his face. Damn, he just hated emotionless and unresponsive people. Couldn't they just take a joke for what it was?!

"What do you want?" he asked, a frown once again marring his beautiful face.

"Nothing much," she said, "I just want to know why a child is part of a horrific experiment."

Jerome snarled. Why was his age the first thing they poked at? "For your information lady, I am not a child, but a young adult. My name is Jerome, and if you call me 'child' again I'll carve you up, haul your body down to the docks, and feed you to the fishes."

The lady gave an evil smile and let out a small chuckle. " _Child_ , there is no such word as 'fishes,' 'fish' is both singular and plural. Second of all,"- her voice lowered and took on a threatening tone – "my name is Fish Mooney and-"

Jerome doubled over and cackled as he realized the beautiful irony. It took him a minute before he was able to get his laughter under control. When he straightened up and looked out the small window again, he saw Fish studying him again. She didn't have any anger in her eyes, only intense curiosity. She had a confused expression on her face, as if she recognized him from somewhere, but was unable to place him.

"I didn't and don't mean any disrespect lady, but why are you studying me?" he said, slightly bothered by her searching eyes. Hey, if you explained a joke, then there was no joke.

"I see fire burning in your eyes," she drawled, stretching out some of the vowels in her words. "You're one of those men who want to watch the world go up in flames."

Jerome smirked. "What can I say? An endless Fourth of July celebration for the entire world sounds like a great idea."

Fish's mouth twitched, and a thin smile appeared. "Normally, I would have you killed or maimed for your earlier disrespect, but…"

Jerome narrowed his eyebrows. What was this fish lady getting at?

The smile on her face disappeared and she gave a small sigh. "I don't know how to feel about you, but a little voice in the back of my head is telling me to let you do your own thing, to not get involved in any of your antics."

Jerome chuckled. "You shouldn't listen to the voices in your head. How do you think I got to Arkham in the first place?"

"There are some men and women that want to watch as the world is consumed by flames. I refuse to be one of the people in those flames," Fish said before turning away. "Being around you would be like hanging around with the lighter."

Jerome grumbled as she disappeared from his view. She said some of the same things his father said, and all of it was a load of horsecrap. Him, the lighter that lit the world on fire? What was next? The Destroyer of Worlds? The Evilest of all Evil?

He stood there for a moment, but turned back around to his bed when Fish didn't return. He sat down, then laid back on his bed. No need to stare at the ceiling for hours on end, he could grab a nap while Strangie was busy…

* * *

Jerome's ears picked up sounds outside of his door. There were a few different voices, and he could hear a constant beeping sound in the background. He lifted his head off the pillow and peered at his door.

Flashes of red came in perfectly timed intervals, and he could see guards outside of Fish's cell. The annoying beeping sounds continued to grate his hearing. He leaned up before rubbing his eyes and yawning. He stretched out his arms and that's when it hit him.

The red flashes and beeping sounds indicated an alarm going off. _Someone was escaping_.

Or something big was threatening the facility and they were all about to die, but what were the chances of that happening?

He hopped off his bed and tip-toed over to the door. He looked out the window to see Fish slip out of her cell, holding onto a black woman's hand.

"Hey, Fish, right?" Jerome called out, his face portraying as much boyish charm as he could muster. "Be a charitable woman and let me out."

She studied him for a minute before he spoke up again. "I'll say 'Pretty Please…'"

"Guards, release Mr. Jerome from his cell," she ordered, snapping the fingers on her free hand. The guard that had opened the door to his cell earlier came forward with the ring of keys. He slid one into the lock and Jerome heard a click.

The door opened and he gave a deep, dramatic bow to Fish. "Thank you m'lady!"

She frowned. "Do not follow me around. I released you because you have 'dangerous' written all over your boyish, little face. It would be funny to see what you do, but you are not going to bring the trouble back to me. Find another way out or leave the same way I do after I am ten miles away from this god-forsaken place, but _do not follow me_."

Jerome smiled. "I don't plan to. I think I'll take a break from Gotham for a while, make a change of pace."

She gave a small smile back to him. "Good, and good luck to you." With that, Fish dragged the woman along with her and the guards dutifully followed behind her. They turned right at the end of the hallway, and they were gone.

Jerome shrugged. He jogged to the end of the hall and made a left. Why would he follow someone that would order him around when he could fly solo and make his own rules? Honestly, it was just common sense.

He turned right at another hallway and then made a left at the end of that one. He looked to his right and skid to a halt. A door was there, and there was a sliver of light at the bottom of the doorframe.

Jerome turned the handle and found it unlocked. He flung the door inward and cheered his good luck. He hit the jackpot, the ultimate motherload, the greatest find…

The employee break room.

A room with three seven-foot, high-powered refrigerators holding tons of food. Cubbies at the far end of the room held different amounts of baked snacks and Jerome could even read some of the names on the bottom of the cubbies. A small kitchen was also in the room, complete with a large sink, an advanced looking coffeemaker, and a whole set of beautiful cooking knives.

He skipped over to the refrigerator farthest from the small kitchen and opened the door. Ice cream cartons and popsicles littered the shelves. Some cartons had a 'For Patients' label printed on them, while others had specific names printed on them. Jerome grabbed a carton of colorful Birthday Cake Ice Cream and rummaged around in the drawers looking from utensils. When he found a spoon, he popped of the cap and dug the spoon into the slightly eaten ice cream. He popped opened another fridge and found cheeses, vegetables, cold deli meats, and fruits. He grabbed some slices of cold ham and cheese, and grabbed a large roll from one of the cubbies. He set the ice cream on the counter and prepared a ham-and-cheese sandwich. After he made the sandwich, he grabbed all of the knives out of their holder and brought them to the small table in the middle of the room.

He bit into his sandwich and nearly moaned aloud with pleasure as familiar yet powerful tastes tickled his tongue. The sweet taste of the bread mixed with the tangy ham and the sharpness of the cheese intertwined together to make a party in his mouth. After he swallowed that beautiful mouthful of his sandwich, he scooped a little bit of the birthday cake ice cream and stuffed the spoon into his mouth. The sweetness of the sugar and the playful flavor of cake caused his eyes to close and his brain to forget where he was. Along long bursts of movement, his body was unused to eating food again, but a sensitive tongue was a lot better than a tired and sweaty body.

As he ate his sandwich, a few guards slipped into the room and slammed the door behind them. They were panting heavily and one was doubled over. After a minute, they looked up at each other and smiled with relief.

He couldn't just sit there while he had guests, could he? That would be totally rude. "Howdy," Jerome said, giving the three guards his best smile.

The guards jumped in shock. Two of them whipped out small handguns from the holsters on their hips and pointed them at him. Wow, these guys really knew nothing about him, did they?

Jerome placed his sandwich on the table and grabbed the meat cleaver and bread carving knife hidden behind the ice cream carton in one hand. "Now that's not nice, boys. I've made this nice meal that I am enjoying, and your threatening to ruin it for me." He tsked in disapproval. This was going to make a great joke, though.

The first guard with the gun trembled slightly. "Listen freak, you're going to head back to your cell and lock yourself back in there." His voice shook slightly as he continued to point his gun at a fully relaxed Jerome. The guns didn't matter as long as he had a clean shot…

Jerome let out a cackle that caused the one without a gun to flinch. "Sorry boys, but I don't think I can go back to my cell. I was thinking of expanding." His face brightened and he gasped. "Maybe I could move in with Brucey. Wayne Manor is totally my kind of bachelor pad."

The second guard with the gun moved toward Jerome. Wrong move. Jerome's smile widened in the split second before he acted. One thing these idiots didn't know about him was that he was raised in a circus, and no circus was complete without… a knife thrower.

Jerome hurled the meat cleaver at the moving guard and ducked over to his right before hurling the bread carver at the other guard with the gun. The meat cleaver _thunk_ ed between the eyes of the moving guard, cutting his nose in half and cracking open his forehead as he dropped (face-first) to the floor. Jerome grabbed a smaller knife and the long kitchen knife, bolted over to the stunned guard and stabbed his neck with the smaller knife before he could react. The bread carver had sliced open the jugular on the other guard, and he had dropped his gun in shock. Jerome was by his side before he could put his hand on the slit jugular, and the kitchen knife was buried into the guard's stomach in a split second. He let the body fall to the ground, then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Jerome stared down at the bloody bodies and felt disappointment destroy his good mood. The action was over too quickly, and it was his fault. If only he had left the guy without a gun alone, he would have been able to continue the party. He sighed and washed the blood off his shaking hands in the kitchen sink. His body was still not used to movement.

He sat back down at the table and finished the rest of his sandwich and the carton of ice cream in twenty minutes. He stared at the bodies as he threw the ice cream carton in the trash can near the kitchen, wishing that one of them was still alive and Jerome could give him a _happier_ ending. But wishes were fishes, and none of the bodies stirred from the floor.

Jerome continued to stare at the bodies for a moment before a wicked idea popped into his head. There had to be other guards running around, desperately looking for a place to hide. Why not… _decorate_ the room a bit before they show up?

He cackled as he grabbed the extra knives on the table and headed for the still bodies.

* * *

Now _that_ was just plain rude, and it made Jerome think the guards were here just to kill any happiness he felt.

Based on what they told him before he busted out of Arkham, nobody said he _couldn't_ wrap the intestines of the guards around the light fixtures as streamers. Nobody said he _couldn't_ fill their lungs with water and use them as water balloons. Nobody said he _couldn't_ use their heads as centerpieces or tape their hearts to the fridges. They just said he couldn't kill anyone.

But he already broke that rule. They didn't have to ruin his fun just because he went the extra mile.

Now he was literally running an extra mile.

He fired a shot at one of the five guards, hitting the guard in the leg. The guard fell, but his companions didn't stop running after Jerome.

Around ten guards carrying rifles had burst into the break room just as a very bloodied Jerome had finished decorating. Two had vomited on the floor he had just bloodied (made to look like a red carpet; it was so rude that they had to mar his hard work), while the other eight just stared at him with abject horror. Jerome then threw his homemade water balloons at them, and the look on their faces then had been priceless. It also caused another three to vomit when they realized the "balloons" were their friends' lungs. Needless to say, Jerome shot the ones not vomiting with the two pistols he stole from the first group of guards and bolted out of the room.

 _Twenty shots left_ , Jerome mentally counted. He grinned despite the stitch in his side. "Come on boys! I've already been in the grave and I'm doing better than you!"

The only response he got from his pursuers was a shout of outrage. He bolted down a hallway to his left and ducked as a bullet whizzed past his right ear. His body ached, and it didn't help that his white prison outfit was completely red from the 30 pints of blood he had been handling. He looked like a giant target, he was sticking out like a cut-off thumb. Thank God he had cleaned his face and hands before the guards had burst in, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to hold or see anything (blood was super slippery).

On another note, he still had no idea where he was going. He was kind of just going with his gut right now, hoping it would lead him down the right path and not into a literal dead-end. He didn't think Strangie would bring him back a second time…

Jerome dove into the right hallway at another forked intersection. The guards were starting to fall behind, but he wasn't going to last much longer unless he took a break as well. His aching body, quite politely, agreed.

He sucked in another deep breath and pushed onwards, taking another left as the guards continued to slow down. He looked behind him and counted four seconds before they reappeared at the beginning of the hallway. Jerome dodged a bullet that would have hit his left hip, and added an extra burst of speed to his sprint. If he could just buy himself a few more seconds he could-

As he dove to his right again, he spotted two large steel doors and a person wearing a hazmat suit walking out of them. _Bingo!_

Jerome shot the person wearing the hazmat suit and tore up the ground beneath him as he sprinted toward the closing door. Luck was on his side; the person fell backward due to the force, but was tall enough to have their feet act as a door stop. Jerome yanked open the door and hopped over the dead person just as the guards rounded the corner.

He grinned for a second before he glanced in front of him. He screeched to a halt, nearly falling into a liquid form of death.

Strangie must have powered a lot of things with toxic chemicals, because Jerome had run straight into the dumping tunnel for them. A large pipe, just big enough for a human slide down, ran into the wall. Barrels of toxic sludge lined up against the walls, and a small pool of the sludge connected to the pipe leading out of the facility. The universe had a funny sense of humor that Jerome did not appreciate at this critical moment.

The guards burst into the room, but stopped fifteen feet from him. One of the guards stepped forward -still a few feet from Jerome- and chuckled at the redhead. "Look kid, you can surrender quietly and we'll give you a quicker death for massacring our friends, or, you can dive down that pipe and maybe your body will reach the outside before you die." He smiled coldly at Jerome, as if he didn't have a choice.

Jerome did have a choice though. Strangie had told him earlier that he was injected with a special formula that made him immune to every toxin on this planet. He could backstroke out of the facility and escape perfectly unharmed.

He grinned back at the guards and proudly presented both birds as he spread out his arms and fell backward into the toxic sludge. Then, the burn hit and Jerome realized as he was swept down the pipe that Strange said he would be fully immune by _tomorrow_ night.

Again, Jerome did not appreciate the universe's sense of humor at this very moment.

* * *

It felt like millions of fire ants were eating him alive, biting into his skin and pumping his body full of their itching poison. Every body part was scalding to the point where he thought he felt every hair on his lean body shrivel up and die. Then came the ache with the burn. His lungs needed oxygen, and it felt like a jackhammer was digging into his brain. His muscles were both on fire and pounding with soreness. It felt like he just ran a marathon, and then decided to relax in hot lava.

He was swept through the pipe quicker than he thought. It didn't matter where he ended up, all that mattered was stopping the aches and the burning-

He shot out of the pipe and landed headfirst onto muddy ground. He opened his eyes and saw the luminescent moon straight above him. He breathed in a breath through his nose and smelled the outside air. He lay there for a moment before bursting out into crazed laughter.

 _That was… FUN_. The pain had awakened something deep inside him, and he wondered if an intense amount of pain would also wake up the secret part in people.

He stopped laughing for a moment and tried to relax the enormous grin on his face. It didn't work; a massive and maniacal smile seemed perfectly frozen on his face.

Huh, that was strange. But it didn't really matter, he liked to smile anyway. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, and gasped with pleasant surprise when he found them bleached white. He giggled, only to hop up and cackle with laughter. Damn, everything seemed to make him laugh, considering the fact that he had flipped the bird at Death many times now.

He skipped over to a small pond near the pipe and crouched over the water. He couldn't have smiled any bigger than he already was, but if he could, he would.

His face was white, and his hair was a wild shade of leafy green. His red prison uniform was now purple, it seemed to mirror the effect the toxins had on him; not enough damage to harm the material, but enough to give it a new identity. It made him look like… a clown (he supposed), yet the bigger-than-average smile and the venomous green eyes would give anyone the impression that he was not a " _nice_ " clown.

Jerome- no, he didn't want that name anymore. It was weak, a child's name; he needed a name that struck fear into his enemies, not one that humanized him. He couldn't think of one off the top of his head… but it didn't matter right now.

He looked over to the Asylum he just escaped from, and looked past it. Gotham seemed to stir, focused on another part of the city and unaware of the horror that was born from its Asylum. He stared at the majestic yet rotten city… and shook his head. No, a part of him wanted to roam off in different directions, try new areas before settling down.

He needed a reputation before conquering this beautiful city. He needed to learn the ropes to running a gang and iron it all out before coming back. He needed to _train_ in the art of killing, and although a big city filled with crime would give him a lot of cover, he wanted to know different ways of how to kill people from different places. He cackled as he pictured his future self, marching into Gotham with an army of thugs ready to terrorize the innocent. He would put them through the same amount of intense pain he went through, and awaken the best of them to a whole new, undiscovered world. No, he wouldn't stay in Gotham, but he would come back, in time.

After all, the buildup to the punchline was the best part of a joke.

* * *

 _To clear some things up: Jerome had two pistols that had 13 shots each, as most guards or officers would carry a pistol instead of a revolver._

 _It was extremely hard writing Fish. I haven't reached the level where I can comfortably write badass characters. This was also my first shot at writing a fight and chase scene, and I hope they were realistic enough._

 _Stories Up Next: Bruce and his parents or my fic about the Scarecrow, both are going to be long like this. *sigh*_

 _If you liked this, please leave a nice review (or a constructive one) and check out A Question Yet To Be Asked if you haven't already. I plan to write another Eddie Nygma fic and maybe one about Ivy a little later from now, but for right now, check out the other one I have. XD_


End file.
